Threads of War
by JubileeProductions
Summary: A string of one-shots dedicated to the fallen. Join the Jedi and a few select individuals as they face the grizzly truth behind the war - it consumes. Everything.


Jedi commander Plo Koon stood tall, his hands folded behind his back as he gazed into the distance, taking no notice in the storm raging down upon him and the world. Without a cloak, he stood there vacantly, his expression, as always, undeterminable.

Captain Wolfe stood a ways back, under the shelter of the landed gunship. He felt an edge of concern for his superior-in-rank. The Jedi Master did this often, and 'this' was called grieving. Much unlike Plo Koon, Wolfe settled his grievances by punching things. But this Jedi… he just stood motionless, hands behind his back, head held high.

They had lost yet another few loyal clones to this gluttonous war.

CT-8776, better known as Shock. He earned his name once he took the shock staff from a dueling droid defending a hostile separatist and destroyed it with his own weapon. Plo had allowed him, against regulations, to keep the weapon as a prize of war for his act of valor. Shock had hung the weapon on the wall above his bunk within his private corridors, and attended frequent training sessions with Shock Troopers and even the general himself. Shock had prized the staff as his secondary in the field, and with it he became a lethal warrior. He died defending the Naboo senator Padme Amadala, a blast in his chest.

CT-2424, also known simply as 24. He had been a fresh trooper, eager to scrap some clankers and earn his name among the Wolf Pack ranks. He did, his name now scraped into the metal wall of the barracks by a vibro blade. 24 had died buying the senator and a few other troops to escape from the Separatist Fortress.

CT-4133. His nickname, Stump, was a tease for his slightly shorter figure, as a result to a cloning malfunction during his generation. But he was no less brave than his comrades, no less dangerous. Captain Wolfe remembered how tall he tried to make himself look when called to attention. How he looked in his armor, how everybody unknowingly assumed he was but a teenager under that helmet. His temper was legendary, his love for things that go 'boom' unparalleled. Stump had died soon after the mission, the blaster wound to his chest fatal.

Plo Koon himself attempted to heal the trooper with the Force, but Stump had stayed the Jedi's hand, and requested him to let him go. _I'll see what your Force thinks of me in the next life, if there be one._ He had said. Approximately 5 seconds later, he passed away, a look of satisfaction on his oddly serene face.

Captain Wolfe hated to lose his men. There were brothers, all of them. They shared the same blood, the same faces. He felt connected to each and every one of them, because, technically, he _was_ them. He _was_ Shock, 24, and Stump. They were brothers in arms, born only to fight and die.

The general still had not moved.

Pulling on his modified helmet, the captain stepped from the shelter of the gunship, his armored boots slushing in the puddles of rainwater. Downpours such as this often plagued Corescant, especially during this season, known as the Weeping.

"Sir," Captain Wolfe stepped up beside the taller Jedi, eyes forward. He just broke three regulations.

Plo Koon's head turned slightly to glance down at the shorter clone, distant, though not impassively like most Jedi the captain had served with. "Captain, is there something you wish to discuss." His voice was deep and distorted behind his aid mask that allowed him to breath in this air.

"Yes sir, if I may."

"You may."

"I…" The clone struggled to find the right words. He seldom spoke to the general without official need. "I… well, you say that the Force lives in everything, all of us, right?"

"I did say that, didn't I?" Plo Koon turned to gaze back into the distance.

"Is it still with our fallen brothers?" Captain Wolfe said in a softer tone that was uncharacteristic to the battle-harden soldier.

 _Our fallen brothers._ Plo Koon beheld the captain's words. Rainwater dripped from the sharp extendments of his mast, and his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Discipline was a keen factor in the Clone army, speaking with such an air of nonchalance was uncalled for, unprecedented by superior standards. The general could care less. Wolfe knew his place, as did Plo Koon. Yes, within the thicket of war, in the heat of battle, in the belly of beasts and raging fires of carnage, the Jedi Master had forged with his troopers a personal relationship, a brotherhood. Other Jedi might have found this condescending of them, but Plo Koon felt not but a warm glimmer of pride in his captain's acceptance, and took comfort in it.

"Always." Said Plo Koon, bringing his arms back around to rest his sharp-nailed hand upon the clone's bandoliered shoulder. "Always."


End file.
